


My World to Yours

by falling_upwards_slowly



Series: She is my Song, As I am hers [1]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arranged Marriage, Blood, Deaths, F/F, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Light Smut, Magic, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falling_upwards_slowly/pseuds/falling_upwards_slowly
Summary: Scylla was a married combat medical officer from 1970s who was mysteriously swept back in time to the 18th century, where she is immediately thrown into an unknown world and must protect herself from the dangers around her. In that time, she meets Raelle, a dashing young warrior who shows her a love so absolute. Will Scylla decide to go back to the Present and leave what she had built up in the Past?Time Travel x Fantasy AU
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: She is my Song, As I am hers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011834
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

_** People disappear all the time. Ask any policeman. Better yet, ask a journalist. Disappearances are bread-and-butter to journalists.  ** _

_** Young girls run away from home. Young children stray from their parents and are never seen again. Housewives reach the end or their tether and take the grocery money and a taxi to the station. International financiers change their names and vanish into the smoke of imported cigars.  ** _

_** Many of the lost will be found, eventually, dead or alive. Disappearances, after all, have explanations.  ** _

_**Usually.** _  
  


**1970**  
  
The town of Inverness in the Isle of Lewis wasn’t a very likely place for disappearances- at least at first glance. It was a quiet place where elderly folks retire after having spent their youthful years working. For Scylla, it had been a year of basic, two more in war college and having finished the six-year proxy war in Congo with the US witch army, was she then relived of her active military duties as a Fixer.  
  
  
  
After six years of being a Captain on the front lines of a war, she was finally able to return to the US. She had seen one war too many and was currently enjoying the much needed escape from the uniforms and rationing by indulging in bright tie-dye shirts, denim, bell bottom pants and disco. She was to be posted at a hospital for witches near Fort Salem in six months and was currently in the Scottish Highlands for a holiday with her husband, Porter.  
  
  
  
They had chosen the Highlands, the same place they had spent their three-day honeymoon shortly before Scylla was dispatched to Congo. She had known Porter since her first Beltane in the army and they were together ever since- deviating from the usual norm of having different partners every few years. Porter was a Sergeant that taught war history in Fort Salem's War College. The number of male witches had decreased drastically after the Chinese Civil War in the 1960s and General Alder had proclaimed a pardon for the men to participate on the front lines from then on.  
  
  
  
Besides, Porter’s interest in genealogy was another reason for choosing the Highlands. According to his paper reports that he dug up from the old attic at his childhood home, his ancestors had something to do with a war around the eighteenth century in this part of British history.  
  
  


They were lying on the bed, basking in each other's presence.  
  
  
  
“A child would be nice when we come back here for the third time,” Porter murmured, kissing Scylla’s forehead.  
  
  
  
“If a child is conceived at all.” Scylla rolled her eyes. The numbers in the army had been reducing in numbers due to the wars and Alder had begun putting pressure on the witches to start having more children. It wasn’t like they haven’t tried in the past nine years they were together- Scylla had accepted it wasn’t in Mother Goddess plans for them to have one.  
  
  
  
“With all this fresh air and healthy diet? You bet we will.” Porter replied, usually the more optimistic one out of the two. They were to be there for a month before they had to take their flight back to the US and continue with their lives from there.  
  
  
  
“What was the name of your… ancestor again?” Scylla asked, intentionally changing the topic.  
  
  
  
“Frank. Frank Wolfbane Tippet. A major from the Sussex. But was more known as Silver Bane during the time he was stationed there.” Porter explained, his eyes gleaming like a fanatic lecturer. “He was brought in around the 1730s, served as Major of the Eighth Dragoons. In the papers I found, it was noted that he had been highly commended by the Duke of Sandringham during the second Jacobite Rising.”  
  
  
  
Scylla looked at him, a little lost. She had never really kept in mind the whole lot of history of the wars outside of those Alder’s army were in.  
  
  
  
“You know, Prince Charlie?” Porter chuckled, shaking his head slightly at Scylla's expression before getting out of bed. He pulled Scylla up and they headed outside for a day in town.  
  
  
  
They had spent a day shopping, buying furniture they had ordered to be shipped back to their new house in Massachusetts. It was their first real home- their days in Fort Salem being separated into different dorms and sending letters to and fro with Scylla in Congo.  
  
  


The full moon was hung up in the clear night sky when they returned back to their lodging house.   
  
  
  
They got out of their car and Porter caught Scylla’s arm. “Watch out, my love.”  
  
  
  
Scylla blinked in surprise, lifting her foot gingerly over a large bright red stain on the bottom step. Her eyes darted to the buildings around their lodge, all having similar red marks on their steps and walls.  
  
  
  
“This town is probably filled with Old Folk.” Porter stated. “Fascinating. The first time we came to the Highlands, most people followed the church. We should ask Mrs Biggs if we could participate in anything tomorrow.”  
  
  
  
“Should we though?” Scylla wasn’t too convinced. It was Samhain but they were both not necromancers and she did not want to impose on the Scottish customs. Alder celebrated Samhain differently in Fort Salem- they do pay respects to the dead, but leave the main festivities for the necrosis to handle. She had admitted she doesn’t know much about the old traditions of it, with Beltane being more emphasised by the General.  
  
  
  
They made their way to the front desk, Porter starting up a conversation with Mrs Biggs.  
  
  
  
“You an Old Folk, Mrs Biggs?” He asked.  
  
  
  
“Aye.” Mrs Biggs smiled. “Our customs are as old as time itself. Even before the days of the giants.”  
  
  
  
“The giants?” Scylla asked when Porter realised he had left the room key in the car and went back out to get them. Scylla had wanted to call him to close the main door entrance he left opened in the haste but she turned her attention back to Mrs Biggs who started talking again.  
  
  
  
“Aye. Fionn and Feinn. Gaelic folktale. Norse roots. Paganism must be a little different in America, ye? Word of General Alder drifts here occasionally in the news. Must be hard, to fight wars that are not your own.”  
  
  
  
“Yes.” Scylla’s reply was sullen. “Our… practices are less colourful due to the bigger need for military training unfortunately.” It had always made her a little guilty and sad that despite being a witch, she had not celebrated their customs as much as the true Old Folk from Europe.  
  
  
  
When Porter came through the door again, his face was white as he mumbled a greeting to Mrs Biggs again before pulling Scylla to their room. She said goodbye to Mrs Biggs as they headed up the stairs.  
  
  
  
Scylla frowned in confusion at her husband’s pale face. _Did he suddenly get sick?_  
  
  
  
The door closed behind them and she sat down on the dining room chair while Porter paced back and forth. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair, looking rather unsettled.  
  
  


“Seen a spirit of the past?” Scylla raised a brow.  
  
  
  
“I’m-“ he paused. “I’m not at all sure that I haven’t. Can spirits come all the way here? I thought only necros can open portals to the otherworld.”  
  
  
  
“Come on Porter, we are witches. Don’t tell me you are scared over a spirit during Samhain.” Scylla rolled her eyes.  
  
  
  
“She was standing outside-“ Porter Began, pouring out a glass of whiskey for himself and Scylla. He placed one glass on the table and drank down his shot before continuing. “Around the block, under the lamp post by the statue. Looking straight at you.”  
  
  
  
“Me?” Scylla snorted, downing her whiskey.  
  
  
  
“Yes. She seemed terribly unhappy about something. Not that I could see her face that well, it was just the way she stood there looking. I asked politely if she needed help but she whirled around and pushed past me, disappearing across the bridge.”  
  
  
  
“Sounds like you met someone rude, rather than it being a spirit,” Scylla observed.  
  
  
  
“She was short and with some braids in her hair. Also, she wore some sort of blue coloured charm on her outfit that seemed like she came from a Highland theatre show. It was odd. I tried to tap her shoulder but when she turned, she disappeared so fast- like a ghost.”  
  
  
  
Scylla rubbed his back. “And you need to forget about it so we can go to sleep.” She headed into the bathroom to change into her night gown.  
  
  
  
Porter was sitting on the bed when she came out. He was in his pyjamas, face filled with contemplation.  
  
  
  
“You can’t be seriously still thinking about this?” Scylla mused.  
  
  
  
“Did you have any Scots in your charge, Scylla?” He looked up at her abruptly. “I know The Hague had Scottish witch soldiers to Congo. On the front lines or back at the outpost hospital?”  
  
  
  
Furrowing her brows, Scylla replied, “of course. There were Scots and Dutch, some English witches who volunteered. We were mainly witches from Alder’s army.” _Why was he asking me this?  
  
_  
  
“Perhaps. She was a witch you had saved.” Porter uttered. “Saw you around and er- perhaps wanted to meet you. Something like that.”  
  
  
  
Scylla sat at the edge of the bed, “and so…?”  
  
  
  
“And so… perhaps she was a-“  
  
  
  
“Romantic interest of mine?” Scylla scoffed, standing back up immediately and folding her arms. She took a deep breath in, trying to quell the seed of fire in the pit of her stomach. _He seriously cannot be accusing me of this…?_  
  
  
  
“No, No. Not at all.” Porter said, pretty unconvincingly and waved a hand, slightly alarmed at Scylla’s anger. He reached for her hand and gave her his best puppy eyes. “it had been six years. That’s quite a long time, you know? And we saw each other only once each year. It- it wouldn’t be- I-“ Porter searched for the words to say. “I would understand if anything happened, you know?”  
  
  


Scylla yanked free of his touch. “Do you think I was unfaithful in Congo?” _How dare he!_ “In our world you know we can have multiple partners and I if I wasn’t faithful, I wouldn’t have waited to Congo to go at it!” She snapped.  
  
  
  
“I- I-“ Porter got out of the bed and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. “No. No. I know you would never do such a thing. I just wanted to say that it would not have made a difference, you know? I’m most utterly in love with you.”  
  
  
  
He pulled Scylla closer and she relaxed in his embrace, slowly putting her arms around his waist. Scylla let out a loud exhale. She agreed though- that six years had been a long time.  
  
  
  
“Let’s just move forward. Us two, together.” He murmured, stroking her hair as they stayed in each other’s embrace.  
  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
  
Mr. James had called for Scylla, as arranged, promptly at eight the next morning. He was her tour guide up the hills to Craigh na Dun. Mrs Biggs had suggested the tour around the country side for her to spend her time while Porter and Mr Biggs dug up some more papers for Porter’s ancestry roots.  
  
  


They had stopped near the top of the hill, at a vintage point where the car could be parked at. Scylla had gotten out of the vehicle, immediately crouching down to study the different plants around her. She had discovered that the man knew a lot about the plants around this area and they spent the morning going through the book of herbs he had given her before he started driving. She mostly used her Work to heal injured soldiers, but knowing the different herbs out in the field was as important for when they were short-handed or for civilians who refused their fixing. Scribbling down some extra notes in the book, they moved further up the hill.  
  
  
  
They stopped for lunch and Scylla complied to Mr James tea leaf reading. She was unsure if he was a diviner but she didn’t mind a casual reading. Her guide picked up the cup she just drank from and focused on the patterns of the leaves. His brows pressed together, looking a little puzzled.  
  
  
  
“Strange leaves.” He said finally. “You may meet another. And the one you know now will break away.”  
  
  
  
“You mean I’m going to leave Porter?” She asked.  
  
  
  
He shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything would happen to your husband. This is, only a big ‘if’ because what do leaves know?” He chuckled. “It just means that if you lose one of your love, you are strong enough to love again.”  
  
  
  
After lunch, they reached the top of Craigh na Dun, and a henge was revealed.  
  
  
  
Scylla grinned widely, amazed at the stone blocks in front of her. These stone blocks were said to house Old Folks while they danced around a fire during a shabbat.  
  
  
  
“Ain’t no stones in ye country?” Mr James asked.  
  
  
  
“We do. It’s called Mystery Hill up in a place called Fort Salem. But nothing so opened like this.” She replied, prowling around the large stones that were three times her height. There was a smaller henge like this on Fort Salem grounds, but it was only opened during Samhain and their instructors had told them to avoid the place on most days.  
  
  
  
Reaching out with her fingers, she lightly brushed them against the stones. There was a particular stone that had a spiderweb-like structures growing around it and she creeped closer, studying the long, white fibre strings.  
  
  
  
It was a mycelium network.  
  
  
  
She had only seen mycelium around the forests of the necro building. She had heard from her necro friend Pat that there was a mycelium wall in their building that stretched out to the entire Fort Salem ground. The mycelium had a faint glow and she heard a whisper of a song she didn’t know. She recalled that mycelium walls were the gateway to the Otherworld, which was why necros studied them so much. She felt as though she should sing along but the song faded away before she could.  
  
  
  
The song stopped and she pulled back, feeling a little light headed. Walking back to Mr James, she thanked him for showing her the place. “I feel a little more connected to a part of my history.” She remarked.  
  
  
  
They swung by the village next and Scylla and spent the rest of the hours exploring the village. At one particular store, she had picked up a peculiar looking brooch of a bird’s skull. There was something about it that called out to her and she handed over some coins to the vendor as soon as she saw it.  
  
  
  
It was about evening when they returned to the lodge. Scylla bid farewell to Mr James before entering the building, seeing her husband and Mr and Mrs Biggs in the common dining area. Dinner was being served and Mrs Biggs gestured for Scylla to sit down.  
  
  
  
She greeted them both and gave Porter a quick peck on the lips before sitting down beside him.  
  
  
  
“We traced your husband’s seven times over, great grandfather's roots this afternoon.” Mr Biggs beamed. “Major Tippet was in the command at Fort William for about five years but there were many papers recounting him harassing the Scottish people around the border.”  
  
  
  
“Blessings from the Mother Goddess that I did not get a single bad bone from him,” Porter joked. “The English in general were very aggressive towards the Scots in those times. Besides, he had the Duke of Sandringham that backed him up, allowing him to continue his ratchet ways on the Scots.”  
  
  


Porter recounted the other details of their find as dinner passed. With their bellies full, they wore light, plain white gowns and their traditional witch cloaks and headed out in Mr Biggs’s truck back to Craigh na Dun, where a shabbat was going to take place. It was the night of Samhain and Mrs Biggs had invited the couple to participate in their midnight festivities.  
  
  
  
Mr Biggs parked his truck at the vintage point and they made their way up to the henge. There were a few other witches who greeted them and they immediately were ushered towards the rest of the group.  
  
  
  
The main druid priest lit up the community fire using a wheel that sparked flames with friction. It represented the sun and started the prayers to the horned god. A large cattle was sacrificed and they danced around, singing an old Celtic song in Mother Tongue. Scylla felt as though a weight was lifted off her, feeling a wave of serenity in her body. They ended the night with taking a flame from the communal bonfire with a candle back to their lodge.  
  
  
  
Porter had still been asleep when Scylla woke up from her slumber. There was an echo in her ears that she could not shake over the night. She tossed and turned, but was unable to sleep after the shabbat and she rolled off the bed, frustrated.  
  
  


There was something about the stones that had called out to her. Perhaps even before the shabbat and maybe when she first went up there with Mr James. Still in her shabbat gown, she picked up her scourge and cloak from her suitcase, she left the room, leaving a note to Porter that she was going back up to Craigh na Dun to discover more plants.  
  
  
  
It was drizzling slightly when she reached the stones. She sauntered around the stones, peering around and checking for anything out of the ordinary. Finding nothing, she walked into the stones, finding the left over bon fire from the shabbat as she continued her examination of the area.  
  
  
  
She squinted her eyes, focusing on the stone that had the mycelium and realised the fungi was glowing brighter than the first time she saw it. There were faint scratches on it, but whatever that had been written were already too worn down to mean anything.  
  
  


There was a deep humming noise coming from the mycelium and Scylla took a step towards the network. It was a song of some sort and Scylla tried to follow along, hoping it would give her some sort of answer. She tried to match the pitch of the sounds that were passing through her ears.  
  
  
  
Suddenly, the rest of the stones were making the same low sounds and the ground beneath her vibrated.  
  
  
  
Scylla staggered, flying her arms to try and keep her balance. She placed her hand on the stone as an attempt to balance herself but she felt herself fall. She closed her eyes, thinking she would hit the hard surface of the stone but she was falling.  
  
  
  
Falling somewhere she did not know.  
  
  
  
Her vision was blur as her body felt light. It was as though she was having a bad trip on Salva. Her head stunned and there was this sort of disruption to her body that she could not comprehend.  
  
  
  
It was not as if she lost consciousness, but she was definitely not aware when she “landed”. Her heart beats were erratic, mind in chaos and her legs gave way, causing her to sit down on a decomposing log. Her fingers felt the moist moss that grew on the bark of the tree, thick tufted grass pricking at her ankles. Finally being able to focus on her vision, she realised she was in a forest of some sort.  
  
  


There was a confused noise of shouting men nearby, and the hooves of horses galloping. The men were some distance away when Scylla saw them. There were a few gun shots heard and Scylla ducked behind the log.  
  
  
  
A few more shots were heard and she craned her neck, eyes blinking in surprise at men who were wearing red coats with muskets in their arms.  
  
  
  
_What the actual fuck?  
  
  
_

The men were getting closer and a body dropped in front of her. Dead and fresh blood oozing out, she realised the man was Scottish by his obvious plaid kilt.  
  
  
  
_Why were they dressed like they were still in the eighteenth century?_  
  
  
  
A familiar figure burst out from behind the tree and took a shot at her. Scylla sung out a wind shear, the bullet disintegrating in front of her, before the man pushed her against a tree.  
  
  
  
“Porter?” She burst out. Uneasiness settled in her stomach as she studied him closely. They had the same blue eyes, fine-drawn bones, tough he had long bond hair and a large scar down his right eye.  
  
  
  
“Major Frank Tippet of His Majesty’s Eighth Dragoons. I oversee the folks here all the way north to Fort William.” The man plainly replied. “And who would you be, my lady?”  
  
  
  
_When did Porter had time to put a costume and make up on? Was this some kind of weird history play kink that he wanted her to participate in?  
  
  
_

She struggled to breath as his palm pressed against her neck. “I’m Scylla. Scylla Ramshorn.”  
  
  
  
“And what might a lady like you be doing here in a place like this?”  
  
  
  
“None of your fucking business,” she spat, looking down at the small knife on his belt. He was hurting her and something at the back of her mind was telling her this was not Porter at all. In a swift motion, she pulled out his knife, stabbing it into his lower ribs.  
  
  
  
The man yelled out at the sneak attack, tumbling down on the ground.  
  
  
  
There was a sudden whoosh from above, followed immediately by a blur before her eyes and a loud thud. The figure was definitely smaller in size and they pressed a palm on Major Tippet’s head and he dropped on the ground unconscious. It was a sleeping spell- which meant whoever this person was, they were a witch as well.  
  
  
  
“Quick!” The person spoke, pulling her along into the trees. “Don’t worry, he will either wake up first or his men would find him first. But otherwise, we must flee, aye?"  
  
  


They zig zagged passed overgrown gorse and heather, finally stopping at the start to a clearing. There were other horses and men about ten yards away when they slowed down into a walk.  
  
  
  
Scylla chest heaved as she took in as much oxygen as she could. Everything felt like it was spinning. Her mind still surging with perplexity.  
  
  
  
_Where was she?_  
  
_What happened to her?_  
  
_Why was she in a forest?  
  
_  
  
“Who the bloody fuck are you?” She jerked her arm away, glaring at the figure who turned around.  
  
  
  
The person was a woman. She was about an inch taller and had blonde hair did up in braids with a wavy fringe down the left side of her face. Her jawline was sharp, bare toned arms protruding from a ragged black shirt. She wore dark leather pants and brown dirtied boots, a sword hung around her belt.  
  
  
  
The woman stared back and Scylla thought her eyes were a striking blue eyes that could rival her own.  
  
  
  
There were a few heartbeats of silence between them before the blonde woman spoke.  
  
  


“Name's Raelle Collar, my lady.”


	2. Chapter 2

They walked up to the group of men and women. They were all dressed similarly to Raelle, though the colour of their robes differed. Raelle spoke to them in a foreign language and they all stared at her for a moment- some in curiosity, some with unmistakable leers. Scylla stared boldly back- she wasn’t a soldier of the witch army for nothing. They were clustering around her, smelling strongly of sweat and alcohol and Scylla wondered when they last washed up. _If Raelle had saved her, then by extension, they shouldn't be too dangerous, right?_  
  
  
  
“I never got your name, my lady,” Raelle turned back towards her.  
  
  
  
“Scylla. Scylla Ramshorn.” She decided to say. If it was a ransom they had in mind, she did not want anything that would lead to Porter. There were rumours of witch bounty hunters and traders when she came back to America and she needed to be on guard.  
  
  
  
“Scylla? Ye Greek, lass?” A large, dark-skinned man with a trimmed beard stepped forward. His voice was a deep bass, as expected of his barrel chest. By the air of command, he seemed to be the leader of their tiny pack. The man looked her over carefully, no expression on his face.  
  
  
  
“No. Not greek. I’m American.”  
  
  
  
“Where ye going that ye are so far out? Over the seas even.” He snorted. “Ducan Bellweather.”  
  
  
  
“Well, Mr. Bellweather, I would like to go back to the town of Inverness.” She requested.  
  
  
  
“Inverness? Where the bloody hell is that?” He guffawed. “Ye are comin’ with us, lass. Anddon’t cost us trouble till we reach the castle or I’ll slit ye wee throat myself.” He gestured with a hand and they tossed her up on Raelle’s horse. She heard a loud grunt from Raelle as she hopped onto her horse before Ducan called out for them to start moving.  
  
  
  
They travelled for awhile longer till the sun went down and stopped by a small tavern. Scylla furrowed her brows. She did not recognise any of it. _Was she still on the hill of_  
 _Craigh na Dun?_ The trees certainly looked like those around Inverness. The mountains looked familiar... _but where was the town?_  
  
  
  
They ushered her in and ordered food. A form of bread and some meat were served, along with alcohol. Scylla nibbled her food, studying the whole lot of them. Raelle was sitting beside her, her head bent, hand clutching the opposite shoulder, rocking slightly back and forth. Scylla studied her face and the blonde woman seemed to be in pain. She had not noticed it before, but Raelle was clearly injured. Scylla had thought Raelle held the horse lead with one hand because she could but clearly it was because her other shoulder was hurt.   
  
  


Ducan gently pushed Raelle’s clutching hand away and revealing her dirt-smeared shirt blotched with blood. He pulled down her linen shirt, a deep bullet hole straight through with blood still oozing out and a dreadful shoulder joint that made her arm hung at an impossible angle.  
  
  
  
“We’ll clean up the wound. Musket ball went straight through but she’ll heal.” Another man came forward with a grimy cloth and used it to blot the blood. “We’d need a chirurgeon to put back the out’o’ shoulder.”  
  
  


_Musket ball?_ Scylla thought blankly. _What’s a chirurgeon?  
  
_  
  
“No chirurgeon around. We gotta force it in, somehow.” Ducan spoke up, motioning for two other men to hold the blonde. They picked up his arm by the wrist and elbow, trying to force it upwards back into the socket. Sweat poured down Raelle’s face and she let out a groan, eyes squeezed close from the pain.  
  
  
  
Scylla decided to intervene. “Don’t do that.” She stood up.  
  
  
  
“What do you mean?” Ducan snapped, clearly irritated by her intrusion.  
  
  
  
“You’ll break her arm if you do that.” She explained, pushing aside the men and holding onto Raelle’s arm herself. The blonde’s skin was warm, but not feverish and Scylla made a mental note on the seed sound she could use later on. It was not wise to use her Work right now when she still did not know if they were accepting of witches.  
  
  
  
“You have to get the bone of the upper arm at the proper angle and it will slip back into the joint.” Resetting a shoulder joint was common place during the war. Scylla had done it plenty of times.  
  
  
  
With an abrupt push and the shoulder giving a soft crunching noise, the joint was back in place.  
  
  
  
Raelle looked amazed. She put her hand up and swung it.  
  
  
  
“Goddess!” Scylla grabbed her arm and placed it back down on the table. “It will be tender for several days. Please don’t extend it so much. Try to move it only in about two to three days. Use warm compression daily.”  
  
  
  
The whole lot of them were eyeing her and she suddenly felt conscious.  
  
  
  
“I’m a- nurse.” She made up an excuse. She didn’t think saying “medical officer” or “fixer” would bode over well.  
  
  
  
Ducan blinked in confusion. “For a wet nurse, ye seem to have skill in healing, lass. Ye mother must have been a charmer. Can ye help with the rest of Raelle’s wound?” He turned to the other woman of the group. “Oy, Libba! Do we got cloth?”  
  
  
  
Libba, came forward with a wooden chest. She stuffed her hand in and handed over some strings of cloth to Scylla.  
  
  
  
 _How are these cloth so dirty?_ “I need clean cloth.” She gave an apologetic smile to Libba.  
  
  
  
“Aye, my lady,” Libba opened up the chest beside her, digging through it for some new cloth.  
  
  
  
“The wound needs to be disinfected then bandaged with a clean cloth. If there are no sterile bandages.” She explained. She needed to clean Raelle’s wound properly before it starts to get infected.  
  
  
  
Eyebrows rose all around.  
  
  
  
“Disinfected?” One of the men- who held Raelle’s arm before, asked carefully.  
  
  
  
“Yes.” _Do they not have saline solution or anything?_ She was not about to use her Work to clear Raelle of her infection if she didn’t have to. They already thought she was weird being able to fix a shoulder joint. Where do these people come from? “All dirt must be removed from the wound and must be treated with a compound to discourage germs and promote healing.”  
  
  
  
“Germs? What the bloody hell is that?” Ducan scoffed. “What is a compound?”  
  
  
  
“Iodine?” Scylla supplies. Seeing no comprehension on any of their face, she tried again. “Merthiolate? Dilute carbolic?” They all still had lost looks on their faces. Scylla accepted the clean cloth that Libba eventually found.  
  
  
  
“Alcohol?”  
  
  
  
At last she had found a word they appeared to recognise and one of the men thrusted the leather flask into her hands. Scylla sighed with impatience. _Are the joking with her? This was the only alcohol they had? Unbelievable_. “Why don’t you bring Raelle to the town’s doctor?” She asked.  
  
  
  
“What town?” Ducan frowned.  
  
  
  
“You know what, forget it.” Scylla waved him off and started tending to Raelle’s wound. It was pretty easily done and she patched it up quickly, tying the woman’s shoulder with a improvised cloth sling to keep it stable.  
  
  
  
Ducan sat beside her quietly as he observed her work. After she was done, he spoke to her once more. “I don’t know if you are telling us the truth. But I cannot rule out that you are not an English spy. Yet I will not leave a woman out to be prime meat for the Red Coats.” He chugged down the cup of ale. “So. You will come with us to the castle. We might just have some sort of use for a healer. If. Laird Bellweather accepts you, that is. I have no promises about my sister.”  
  
  
  
 _In some sense they are quite progressive if his sister isn’t called ‘Lady’ but rather ‘Laird…_  
  
  
  
Without hearing a reply, he stood up and called out to the group in a foreign language that Scylla had deduced to be Gaelic. They immediately hustled out of the tavern with Scylla and Raelle at the back of the group. Scylla had finally counted them- there were six others she did not know the name of, apart from Ducan, Raelle and Libba.  
  
  


The night sky was thick with a glory of stars. There was no nearby town or city to veil the sky with artificial light, allowing the stars to hold undisputed dominion over the night. It was a lovely sight and Scylla wished it were in better circumstances that she could fully admire it.  
  
  
  
Ducan brought a horse towards them. “You know how to ride, lass?” He asked Scylla.  
  
  
  
She nodded. She had travelled by horses and cattle in Congo, apart from their huge army trucks. She jumped onto the horse first before Ducan spoke to Raelle in their foreign language. Raelle rolled her eyes but allowed him to help her up. Raelle sat in front of her, leaning against her chest to put less pressure on her shoulder wound, though her other hand still held onto the reins of the horse. With no where else to go, Scylla had no choice but to follow them. Ducan had stated something about a castle and Scylla decided she would figure out how to get home from there.  
  
  
  
The journey was a little awkward, with Raelle’s body against hers.The blonde smelt strongly of woodsmoke, blood and unwashed for a week at least. With no more than a faint chinking of bridles, they moved off into the starlit night. There was no conversation among the men, only a general wary watchfulness. The horses broke into a trot as soon as they reached the main road path.  
  
  
  
Dawn began to fall upon them and Scylla realised they had moved without stopping throughout the whole night. She was used to staying up on night duties and wasn’t too exhausted about not catching sleep. For now.  
  
  
  
There was something faintly familiar about the section of countryside they were passing through. “Isn’t that Cocknammon Rock?” She asked to no one in particular. The large rock formation looked like something her and Porter drove pass on their way down to Inverness.  
  
  
  
“Ye, my lady.”  
  
  
  
“Didn't the English use it for ambushes?" she asked, trying to remember the dreary details of local history Porter had spent hours regaling at her last week.  
  
  
  
“Ye. We are detouring from here. Ain’t no need to see another Red Coat.” Raelle remarked.  
  
  
  
The Red Coats must be the English men.  
  
  
  
Were the English good or bad? She couldn’t really tell right now. Uneasiness seeped into her stomach as they passed through pine trees that was definitely not of Inverness. If they had passed Cocknammon Rock… then they would have seen the town by now….  
  
  
  
 _Unless-_  
  
 _Unless the town had not been built yet._  
  
  
  
A cold shiver went down Scylla’s spine as she admitted for a moment of the implausible idea that she was in another time other than her own. Inverness was a town that had been around since the 1850s. Does that mean she is further back into the past? It was definitely passed 1500s if they knew what an American was. However, there was no electricity. No lights. No sign of medical advancement.  
  
  
  
 _Even if she had travelled to the past, what then? How would she be able to go back?  
  
_  
  
They had traveled for about another full day and night before reaching a foggy moor. Raelle sat up straighter, indicating to Scylla that their destination loomed ahead.  
  
  
  
Scylla squinted her eyes, making a note of the huge bulk of dark stone outlined by the grey light. The surroundings were no longer quiet and deserted. There was a trickle of rudely dressed people, heading toward the castle. They moved to the side of the narrow road to let the horses trot past, gawking Scylla who tried to pay no attention to their gazes.  
  
  
  
They passed a stone bridge which arched over a small stream that ran past the front of the castle. The castle itself was blunt and solid. No fanciful turrets or toothed battlements. It looked more like an enormous fortified house, with thick stone walls and high, slitted windows. A number of chimney pots smoked over the slick tiles of the roof, adding to the general impression of greyness. Though the coat of arms that hung down from the walls were of red and gold with a lion sigil.  
  
  
  
“Where are we?” Scylla asked.  
  
  
  
“The Keep of Leoch.” Raelle replied curtly.  
  
  
  
 _Castle Leoch.  
  
_  
  
 _Right._ She had travelled to the castle with Porter on their honeymoon. It definitely looked more grand now than the ruins it had become in the 1970s. Scylla took a deep breath, trying to ground herself as the notion that she really travelled back in time etched in her mind.  
  
  
  
She was pretty sure she was somewhere in the eighteenth century.  
  
  


They stopped at the entrance of a stable and everyone got off their horses.  
  
  
  
A tattered hostler ran up to grab the halter of Ducan’s horse. “Ay, Master Ducan!” He greeted. “Mrs Berry is getting ready the breakfast and beds. She’ll be out in a jiffy.”  
  
  


Ducan nodded and beckoned for the men to follow. He gave Scylla a hard look before turning around.  
  
  
  
Raelle waited with Scylla as they stood in silence for another five minutes before Mrs Berry showed herself. She was of average height, ginger haired middle-aged lady in brown linen.  
  
  
  
“Raelle! You lil’ ninny!” She ruffled the blonde’s hair. “What ought we should do wit’ya? What happened?”  
  
  


“Ay, Mrs Berry. Fight against the Red Coats.” She tilted her head towards Scylla. “This is Scylla. She’ll be with us till Laird Bellweather decides if we are to sent her away.”  
  
  
  
“My dear,” Mrs Berry looked at Scylla up and down with an air of shrewd evaluation. Then, she smiled, deciding she was harmless enough and took her by the arm. “Well then, Scylla. Welcome to ye. Come wit’me and we shall find ye something else to wear, ye? A bit more to wear.”  
  
  
  
Scylla halted before turning back to Raelle. “Find me later? I’ll need to take another look at your wound and change the bandages.”  
  
  
  
Raelle begrudgingly nodded her head before she stalked off in another direction while Scylla was dragged away by Mrs Berry.  
  
  


“You a charmer then? A beaton?” Mrs Berry asked.  
  
  
  
“Um. Something of that sort.” Scylla had no idea what those two words meant but Mrs Berry would not understand her medical qualifications anyway so she just agreed.  
  
  


After a long trip through cold narrow corridors, dimly lit by slitted windows, they came to a fairly large room furnished with a bed, a couple of stools, and most importantly, a fire.  
  
  
  
“Um. Is it possible for me to wear whatever Raelle was wearing?” Scylla asked Mrs Berry.  
  
  
  
The woman looked at her oddly. “Why would a healer wear something of a warrior? You sure you don’t want a nice dress, lass?”  
  
  
  
Scylla shook her head. It would be easier to move around with pants anyway. Besides, a belt would be good to hook on her scourge instead of making her weapon look like some kind of accessory waistband.  
  
  
  
“Aye, well. Wait here, my dear.” Mrs Berry closed the door.  
  
  
  
She waited for awhile more, exploring the room in the meantime. She placed her scourge and bird charm on a small table. There were no books or papers and she could not figure out the date. She had came to the conclusion she was sent back in time. _But when?_ She did not know.  
  
  
  
Mrs Berry came back with Raelle. The blonde had brought food and a small chest while Mrs Berry had laid down fresh linen for her on the bed before exiting again, stating she had to keep an eye on the rest of the group.  
  
  
  
Scylla took off her soiled clothings and Raelle gawked at the sight. She gave a “really?” look at the blonde and Raelle hastily whirled around, face definitely red. Scylla rolled her eyes. _Has she not ever seen another women’s body? Shesh._  
  
  
  
“You can turn around now.” Scylla mused once she was done putting on her clothes. Mrs Berry had given her a long sleeved hazelnut linen shirt and brown pants. She still wore the boots she had from her lodging room and hoped they blended well enough that no one would ask. She tied her scourge to her the belt on her waist and attached her bird skull charm to the belt as well. She placed her cloak at the end of the bed, the place being warm enough she didn't need it at the very moment.   
  
  
  
Raelle turned around slowly and hesitantly reached out for a stool to sit. The blonde was still avoiding her eyes as she chewed on the apple in her good hand. Scylla grabbed another stool and sat in front of her, gently pulling her shirt down to examine the dressing.  
  
  
  
It was still swollen but thankfully not infected.  
  
  
  
There was a small black iron kettle and she set that on the fire with water, garlic and witch hazel she found in the chest. Going through the chest again, she found some cherry bark and gave it to Raelle to chew.  
  
  
  
“Pain killer.” She informed.  
  
  
  
The blonde looked confused but accepted the bark anyway. She was glad she had some information of old herbs from Mr James’s book in her head. She would definitely have to rely on her memory of herbal medicine in this time.   
  
  
  
She pulled the bandages off as carefully as she could. Most of the wound was covered in dried blood, though fresh red ooze were still around the edges. She contemplated for a moment if she wanted to use her Work. _If Raelle was also a witch, it would just be a secret between them, no?_  
  
  
  
Placing her palm as gently as she could on the wound, she sung out a low simple song and the wound started patching up. It took a few more heartbeats but Raelle’s skin looked as new as it could be when she was done.  
  
  
  
Raelle smirked, with a hint perhaps of flirtation. “Ye a witch, my lady.”  
  
  
  
“Yes. I’m a fixer. Well, I think you call it a healer here. I know you are one too. You used some sort of seed sound that caused Major Tippet to fall asleep.”  
  
  
  
“Aye. I can see far away. Which was why I came to ye. Though, it didn’t seemed like ye needed any help fighting him off in the end.” The blonde chuckled. “Had experience fighting, my lady?”  
  
  
  
 _So she was a Knower, then._ “Something like that. Had been… in tough crowds since I was twenty one. It’s been six years.”  
  
  
  
“Ah, couldn’t tell you were older, my lady. Ye have a beautiful face.”  
  
  
  
Scylla snorted, not accustomed to compliment from a stranger.  
  
  
  
“Ye better tie up those laces of the linen. Your witch mark is showing.” Raelle pointed to her clavicle.  
  
  
  
Scylla looked down, realising her witch mark could be seen and started tying up the laces of her shirt. “Where’s yours?”  
  
  
  
“An inch away from my fanny, so perhaps ye’ll see it when we get to know each other better, aye?”  
  
  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
  
  
“The folks here don’t know that I am. Only Laird and Master Bellweather. Them saved me when I was about to die. Red Coats pinned me to a pillar and I was whipped.” Raelle motioned to her upper back that was covered with a criss-cross of faded white lines. She had been severally flogged.  
  
  


Scylla had definitely seen a wide variety of wounds and injuries, but there was something about these scars that seemed shockingly brutal.  
  
  
  
“Done by Major Tippet himself.” Raelle scorned.  
  
  
  
“Tippet?” Scylla’s eyes shot up.  
  
  
  
“Aye. You know of that man, my lady?”  
  
  
  
“I- I have heard of his name.” _Was this Major Tippet possibly be Porter’s ancestor?_ “Why were you flogged?” She asked as she picked up the plate of cheese.  
  
  
  
Raelle sighed, moving her tender shoulder. “Obstruction. Or something of that sort. At Fort William.”  
  
  
  
“Obstruction?”  
  
  
  
“Defending my family and property from the Red Coats. Those lot were the bullies.” Raelle pursed her lips. “It was a near five years ago. I just became an adult. My parents were away on a trading trip and I was left at home with my sister, Rue. A small group of Red Coats entered my family’s farm, grabbing my sister, about to rape her. I came out when I heard her screaming, fought the lot off but couldn’t beat Major Tippet himself.”  
  
  
  
Raelle stopped for a moment, jaw working.  
  
  
  
“He took me away to the main town and stripped off my shirt at the main stage. He then took the whip and made a spectacle. I was left lying when Ducan untied me and carried me onto his wagon. He took me to a healer and because I am a witch so my body is stronger- I survived. I couldn’t go back to my family’s farm because there was a bounty for head. So I travelled with Ducan and arrived here. The Laird allowed me to stay and I tend to their horses and help with the blacksmiths in this castle.”  
  
  


"I see," Scylla said quietly. "I'm sorry. It must have been a terrible experience for you."  
  
  
  
“Not to worry. I had many near death experiences. I get into trouble quite a bit over the years.”  
  
  
  
“You sound like a dangerous character,” Scylla said lightly, trying to find the humour in this very dark story.  
  
  
  
One corner of Raelle’s mouth turned up, her blue eyes glinted. “Oh, I sure am. I definitely been a lot in my twenty three years. A wonder you think yourself safe with me in this room, my lady.” The blonde finished off with a wink.  
  
  
  
 _I can literally kill you with only a plastic spoon in my hand._ “Well, you seem harmless enough at the moment.” Scylla chuckled.  
  
  


“I thank ye, Scylla. You’ve got good fingers.” Raelle’s hand reached out to take Scylla’s in hers. Scylla felt an odd surge of intimacy. Sure Raelle was a charismatic woman, and she could definitely see herself tapping that but- _Porter._  
  
  


If she was, in fact, in the eighteenth century, where was he? What would he do when she failed to return to Mrs Biggs’s place? Would she ever see her again?  
  
  
  
“Why are you suddenly sad, my lady?” Raelle’s voice was gentle and Scylla tried her hardest not to cry. Tears welled up in her eyes and she swallowed the lump in her throat to try and calm herself.  
  
  
  
Raelle gathered Scylla firmly into her arms and stroked her neck and back, allowing Scylla to lean tiredly into her warm chest.  
  
  
  
“My husband. He-“ Scylla tried to find the words. “He’s gone. Or- maybe I am. I- I don't think I'll be seeing him again.” Scylla said sadly. It was true- if she could not go back to her time, then she would never see Porter ever again. Leaving behind the world she had tirelessly struggled to build up for herself was a hard thing to come to a realisation to.  
  
  
  
The older woman pulled back slightly, her face flaming. She could see that Raelle was a bit flushed as well, but not disconcerted.  
  
  


“I’ll protect ye here, my lady.” Raelle promised, her eyes filled with seriousness. “I’m sorry about your husband.”  
  
  
  
Scylla laughed shakily, trying to seem like she was better. They untangled from each other and Scylla felt a little, strange disappointment at the sudden lack of warmth.  
  
  
  
“I’ll see you in the great hall soon, my lady.” Raelle bowed. “Thank you for healing me. I’ll let you rest now.” She bowed again before making her way out of the room.  
  
  
  
Scylla took another few bites of food before she plopped down on the bed. She wrapped the pile of quilts around her body and soon was asleep as exhaustion took over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make it clear, raelle is a knower and scylla is a fixer in this fic. 
> 
> yes i lied. i updated this before the long night X(
> 
> And as usual, the first few chapters are mostly me trying to build the world... it feels a little boring? tell me in the comments.  
> this story will be centered more around scylla and in extension raelle. or at least thats how the planning goes.


End file.
